ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴇʜɪᴠᴇ

[ Barbara is definitely one of the unfornates shanghaid at the door and ushered into a side room. Sue her. If she packed a second pair of clothes, the only other outfit she packed on top of that was her costume. With just enough space to throw her laptop on top. It is, she decides—after being redressed, hair done up, make-up applied, and ushered back out the door—not as bad as the last time someone else chose her dress.

It'll do. Her feet are sore, and so is her back, and she wants something to eat.

But the sound of a laugh, too familiar (and so fake even though it sounds so effortlessly genuine) stops her, and she looks around, scanning the crowd suddenly. ]